


Risk

by nicole21290



Category: Lie to Me (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 13:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicole21290/pseuds/nicole21290
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One question keeps playing itself over and over in his mind. 'What are you waiting for?' He has about a hundred answers to that question now, though he suspects none would hold up to any kind of scrutiny, rigorous or otherwise. The only answer he is somewhat satisfied with is very simple compared to the others...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Risk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nocturnal08](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocturnal08/gifts).



He could touch her hand, caress her back, even press soft kisses to the corner of her mouth but no more. It wasn’t safe; it was far too risky. Cal knew all about taking risks and still felt a surge of energy and excitement when he took them to this very day. He was, as in other areas, something of an expert, able to calculate and assess and jump accordingly. Of course, he was more careful about rushing ahead into the unknown these days, probably because he was no longer a callow lad. He had a little more foresight, a little more wisdom. Not much, though, and certainly not enough, Foster would say. And she’d know; she seemed to be bailing him out of trouble more and more as the months passed by. Sometimes, he’d return home after another close escape and wonder if he was pushing too hard, if he was purposely putting himself into situations where she had to save him.

It was just that, if he allowed himself to think about it, he liked knowing she wanted (needed?) to save him. He loved that she saw something in him that was worth the long, late nights, the piles of paperwork, and the scorn and suspicion she was faced with when she tried to explain the why and how of it all. Cal might have spent many a recent night pondering how he managed to still be such an selfish arsehole to somehow he cared for so much, but he spent all his days thanking a deity he didn’t believe in for giving Gill more patience and faith than anyone else he’d ever known.

Sighing, Cal found the remote for the telly, trying to find some distraction in one of the inane programmes he could reliably depend on for dulling his mind. He was well aware of the direction in which his thoughts were about to head and his guilt over the way he’d been treating his partner lately was something he was trying to atone for in his own way, really. He just didn’t want to stew on the reason why he’d been such a prick lately (the way the light in her eyes had dimmed last week when she’d heart him flirting up a storm on his mobile phone had actually _hurt_...) and that that was something as inevitable as the way -

“Daaaaaaaad!” she called and he watched her take the stairs two at a time, grinning at the look of consternation on his daughter’s face. He’d been warned last night about not telling her when her favourite show was on and the consequences she’d threatened had truly been ingenious. Her father’s daughter. With a healthy mix of Zoe’s ability to completely screw with his mind, naturally, he thought, momentarily grimacing.

 “Em,” he acknowledged, patting the space next to him on the couch as she raced across the floor. She rolled her eyes and sat down with zero grace and even less love for her father judging from the glare he was receiving. Clearing his throat and trying to smile winningly, he pointed to the gap she’d left between them. “Emily?”

 Rolling her eyes but with a small, soft smile of acceptance on her face, Emily curled up against her father’s side, patting his leg fondly. “Better?”

 He nodded. Of course it was. He’d long known his weakness where she was concerned. From the moment the nurse had calmly shown him how exactly to hold his newborn, how to support her head just like *that* (“wonderful, Mr Lightman, you’re a natural!” she’d encouraged and even though he’d known she said it to all new fathers, he’d felt his chest swell with pride), he’d been enamoured, completely in her thrall. He still was. The need to protect her, care for her, love her was instinctual, complete, as natural as breathing. It could be painful at times but he accepted it. He was hers.

 And Gillian’s.

Taking advantage of the rubbish and completely irritating ads flickering across the screen moments later, he made his way to the kitchen. Tea. He needed it badly. The past few nights his daughter had been persistent - digging, questioning, prodding him with no compunction. At any other time, he would have been inordinately proud of her stubborn streak. “When did you know?” she’d asked last night. Saturday it had been a coy “Have you kissed her yet?” He’d been woken from a short Friday evening nap by his daughter trying to ascertain the answer to “Is she the one?” from him. He’d mumbled something akin to ‘s’not your business, love’ before resorting to trying to distract her with the promise of her favourite ice-cream for pudding.

One question, however, kept playing itself over and over in his mind. What are you waiting for?

He had about a hundred answers to that question now, though he suspected none would hold up to any kind of scrutiny, rigorous or otherwise. The only answer he was somewhat satisfied with was very simple compared to many of the others.

Signs. He needed them. Actually, just one, in truth, would probably suffice. Some risks were not worth taking unless the conclusion was a sure and certain thing.

Frowning, Cal poured the milk into his cup and headed back to the couch and his waiting daughter. She sat on the very edge, leaning forward and gazing (far too) appreciatively at the half naked man on the screen who was preening and posturing like a bloody cockerel. At least _he_ kept his clothes on when trying to show off. He did wish Gillian would show even a fraction of the interest in _him_ as Emily was showing in the currently-flexing-his-biceps actor, however...

There had been occasions in the past when he’d been so sure that she was interested and not just in a platonic, partnerly way. Once, on an evening he’d pathetically replayed over and over again in his mind as he lay in his large bed alone night after night, he’d been certain she’d wanted him. Her eyes had promised him the world, her words were flirtatious, her arms had held him tightly to her. And then he’d pressed a kiss on her cheek (safe), whispered that she was beautiful (still safe) and tried to ignore the way Gill mindlessly played with the bottom of his T-shirt, her fingers sparking a fire through him as her fingers let go of the dark material and softly traced small circles on his bare skin near his hip. NOT SAFE. He’d cleared his throat and reached for her, taking her hands in his. She’d looked up at him then and, after tilting her head sidewards and studying his face, had taken a step closer.

“Cal...” she’d said, her voice low and intimate, her tone inviting him, desiring him.

“It’s late,” he had replied, stepping back and letting go of her, hating seeing the confusion and disillusionment in his partner’s eyes. It just hadn’t been the right time. Not on the balcony, not while she was tipsy, not when he wasn’t ready.

Sometimes he thought he’d never be ready.

-

His eyes shot open at the sound. She never made that much noise when she came into his office and so he frowned as he watched her approach (stalk towards?) his desk. Dressed all in navy blue – very smart, he’d said this morning, smirking at her – she looked incredibly fetching, her colour high and her back straight. He didn’t think he’d done anything particularly obnoxious today and so he leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up and grinning at Gillian. “Can I help you, Foster?” he asked, trying to inject calm and assurance into his voice. “Do we have a problem?”

“YOU do,” she almost spat, glaring fiercely at him.

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed. Peters just told me you’d told him to sod off?”

“I may have done, darling, yeah.”

“Can I ask why or would that be pointless?” He waited, curious to see what was coming next. He shouldn’t poke like this, push her buttons, but the way her neck was flushed and her eyes shone was sooo... God, she was sexy. “I thought so.”

“Gillian?”

“What?”

“Come here.” She didn’t and he growled low in his throat, repeated himself. “Come.”

She took one step forward before stopping. “No.” Crossing her arms, she raised an eyebrow at him. “You come HERE.”

Ah, that was to be the way of it. “Have you no mercy on my poor old bones and joints?”

“Your body is fine. Come here.”

He smirked at that but resisted the rejoinder in his mind. She probably wouldn’t appreciate it right now. She looked too tense.

“Now,” she commanded, beckoning with a long, slender finger. And so he did.  

Even from a foot away, he could feel awareness radiating off of her, her body tightly wound. Cal wanted to channel that energy, wanted to wind her up even more. And then relax her... Grinning wolfishly, he stepped to the other side of the desk, stopped a mere inch from her and casually put an arm around her waist, pulling her to him. She flinched and he knew. Cal waited for her to make the next move, forward or backward he didn’t know. But they couldn’t keep standing still.

“I’m done. Are you ready?”

“Ready?” He hadn’t expected that question. Unsettling her was fine, normal, how things were done. Not the other way around. He studied her and couldn’t get a read on what she meant. That wasn’t a good sign.

“Kiss me.”

“Kiss you?”

“You’re certainly very articulate today, Dr Lightman,” she said, grinning and looking all the world like she’d just won the lottery. He must look a right idiot, his mouth open in shock. Because that HAD shocked him. Those words. From her.

“Love, you just said...” He trailed off.

“Kiss me. Yes, I did. So, are you ready?”

Her hand was at his jaw now, fingers light and exploratory as they moved to brush his cheek, curl around his ear. Tense, he felt her move closer to him, her breasts pressing against his chest, her thighs touching his. Cal blinked.

“Do you... Do you not want to?” she asked hesitantly, seeming for the first time tonight a little unsure. She shouldn’t be. He’d wanted her for too long. She had to know it.

And so he kissed her, possessed her, let her possess him, told her everything she needed to know with his lips and his tongue and his touches.

Sometimes SHE took the risks.

That’s the way the two of them worked, in truth. When he jumped, she followed. When she crossed the line, he held her hand. They were a good team, the two of them. He groaned into the deepening kiss as Gillian’s eager hand found its way under his shirt, stroked, caressed him. If he was in the mood to make crude comments and employ innuendo, he would quickly think up some jokes, leap to insinuations about how well they rubbed alongside one another.

However, right now (very happily) he couldn’t think at all.


End file.
